"
"Don't you think that is a kind of swearing, Susan? What is the
difference between slamming a door viciously and saying d---"
"Miss Oliver dear," interrupted Susan, desperately determined to save
Gertrude from herself, if human power could do it, "you are all tired
out and unstrung--and no wonder, teaching those obstreperous youngsters
all day and coming home to bad war news. But just you go upstairs and
lie down and I will bring you up a cup of hot tea and a bite of toast
and very soon you will not want to slam doors or swear."
"Susan, you're a good soul--a very pearl of Susans! But, Susan, it
would be such a relief--to say just one soft, low, little tiny d---"
"I will bring you a hot-water bottle for the soles of your feet, also,"
interposed Susan resolutely, "and it would not be any relief to say that
word you are thinking of, Miss Oliver, and that you may tie to."
"Well, I'll try the hot-water bottle first," said Miss Oliver, repenting
herself on teasing Susan and vanishing upstairs, to Susan's intense
relief. Susan shook her head ominously as she filled the hot-water
bottle. The war was certainly relaxing the standards of behaviour
woefully. Here was Miss Oliver admittedly on the point of profanity.
"We must draw the blood from her brain," said Susan, "and if this bottle
is not effective I will see what can be done with a mustard plaster."
Gertrude rallied and carried on.
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